Circus of Dreams
by StoneMasked Taliesin
Summary: 'You blink. The jester blinks back, grinning and offering a chocolate mouse.' Welcome, dear Visitor, to the Circus of Dreams.
1. Chapter 1: Gate of Dreams

**The below works of art belong to Erin Morgenstern and SEGA, not us.**

 **Jukebox:**

 **'Gate of Your Dream' (NiGHTS OST)**

 **'When the Night Falls'** **(NiGHTS OST)**

 **'Lucid Dream, Latent Gate' (by sci, ZelterXC. OverClocked Remix)**

* * *

The circus arrives without warning.

There were no warnings, no signs, no billboards, and no advertisements in local papers, or flyers plastered on the walls. It appeared one day, where before it wasn't. It appears so suddenly that people wondered if it was real at first, when the sun rose on a new day and illuminated colossal canvas. The tents were black and white, not a splash of colour anywhere. An expanse of monochrome laid past the wrought iron fence, with everything from the tents to the ground black and white. When you first see it, silent as a grave, a colorless bubble in a green field, you wonder if one of your grandparent's films hadn't come to life. Surely, you thought, something so quiet in all ways couldn't be a circus, right?

A black sign painted in winding white words hung on the gate, and declared:

 _Opens at Nightfall. Closes at Dawn_

You chalk up yet another oddity. A circus that only opens during the night? Other people asked the same around you as you leave for home. But when you come back at dusk, an ample amount of people are milling in the field. Word of the mystery circus had spread like wildfire. In fact, as you walk through the crowd, you notice people that you knew to be from neighboring towns.

Word spread quickly, you guess.

You pull the scarf closer around you, warding off the evenings chill. You're only here to see what the circus is like. Surely it couldn't be that great. It certainly didn't look that impressive in the day. But curiosity got the better of you, and here you are, standing in a crowd waiting for the mystery circus to open.

As the sun sets, the colour slowly bleeds out of the world as night falls. But the circus seems to grow more…vibrant. There certainly wasn't any change. The stripped tents were still aside from the occasional ripple, and the circus still looked abandoned. But in the dark of twilight's last breath, the black and white of the circus seems more real than the dim field.

You frown as the crowd grows restless. The last rays of the sun had left, and the stars began to twinkle in the sky lazily, as if waking up. A couple of people had already left in a huff, and you're tempted to join them. In fact, you think that leaving would be the best idea. It was obvious that the circus wouldn't open. Might as well spend the night in your room rather than a dark field. You sigh. And blink.

For a moment, you could smell a hint of caramel, of popcorn, of smoke, and something else. In that moment, something pops. Barely audible, like popped bubble wrap. But lights, small and bright, spark over the tents, as if a swarm of fairies had descended onto the circus. The crowd's clamor snuffs out as the wave of light shines over the circus. You hear a gasp, and children crying gleefully. When the fairy lights illumine every tent, undulating in the breeze, you see the sign. Hidden by curls in the fence that looked like vines, more lights flicker to life with pops, occasionally with a shower of glowing white sparks and smoke. You take a step back, along with those nearest to the gate. And when you do, the random pattern of lights resolves itself into legible writing. When the smoke clears, and the last pop echoes into silence, you read the cursive symbols.

 _Le Cirque des Reves._

You frown, remembering hearing something called Cirque de Soleil a long time ago, in class. But you can't remember anything else. For instance, what the sign means. Someone nearby saves you the embarrassment of asking, and is answered by a man dressed as monochrome as the circus with the exception of a bright red scarf. "The Circus of Dreams." You wonder at the fanciful name, but as you look out at the circus, you concede it fits. The gate shudders open, seemingly by themselves, and the way into the circus opens. People stream past you as they enter the circus, each with different levels of excitement. Truth be told, you're excited too. You put a hand in your pocket and count the money you have. For some reason, you brought all of your allowance. You take on last look at the circus, before stepping inside the gates. You feel as if you'll be thankful for that later.

* * *

You take the ticket from the smiling lady at the booth, dressed in monochrome but so elegantly that you wonder if this really is a circus, and follow the line of patrons that stretched both in front and behind you. As you move closer to the heavy, and what other color but black and white, curtain that stood forward, you look at the clock, watching the rhythmic motion of the pendulum. A pendulum that is soon curled up by a silvery dragon, guarding a princess trapped by clockwork as you become next in line. Before you can double check, the curtain swallows you, engulfing you in total darkness.

A moment later, your eyes adjust, and you can make out tiny dots of light around you, twinkling like stars. And in this tunnel you stood alone, even though a moment before you were close enough to the other patrons that you could feel the heat of their body. You walk forward tentatively, arm held out so you don't bump into anything. For a moment, you wonder if you should continue forward. You gasp as you suddenly are bumped forward, stumbling. But when you look back, there is still no one. But now you make your way through the winding tunnels, the small stars your only illumination. You have no idea how far you have walked when you see another curtain. The curtain was softer than velvet to the touch, and you stood there for a moment, admiring its feel. But you can't stay forever, and you step forward, the curtain parting easily.

The light on the other side is blinding, and you stumble again. This time straight into a dream.

* * *

You blink your eyes, taking in the sights around you. The tunnel had taken you to a bright courtyard, stripped tents surrounding you. Paths on the perimeter twisted away from the courtyard, curving into darkness dotted by lights, hiding whatever was beyond. Around you, vendors sold their wares, filling the air with a blend of smells that almost overwhelm you. The buttery smell of popcorn melds with rich chocolate and light vanilla, caramel and honey stickying the air, spice and sugar tickling your nose. Your chest grows pleasantly warm as you take a breath, and even though you had eaten a small dinner beforehand, your stomach leads you to one of the stalls.

Chocolate mice with almond ears and licorice tails. Dark chocolate bats with wafer thin wings. White apples covered in black caramel. Popcorn, cinnamon or salt with the optional chocolate and caramel coating. Delicate sugar flowers, some buds, others in fool bloom, some white daisies, others black roses. You stare at the assortment of goods for a long time, not sure what to decide. The vendor just smiles. After a moment, the vendor recommends their personal favorite. Not knowing what else to do, you buy a bag, and take it with you, popping one of the confections into your mouth. You smile at the flavor, and pop in another.

You walk without purpose, towards the center of the courtyard, and catch a glimpse of the light that had blinded you. Fire, with a color purer than freshly fallen snow, crackles in a large black cauldron sitting atop many feet, each with the claw of a different animal. Instead of a rim, strips of iron, pulled like taffy, formed a cage around the bright fire. The light dances on your face, and you lean forward, trying to get a glimpse of what the fires fuel is. Surely they made the fire burn such an odd color by using a chemical or something. You only see white, heat tickling your face.

Something taps your shoulder.

You turn back, looking around. Nobody is behind you, everyone else walking around in wonder. You blink in confusion, stepping away from the cauldron of fire. You shake your head, before taking one of the paths deeper into the circus at random. You wonder if the rest of the circus was like this.

You wouldn't mind.

* * *

You make your way through the pathway, passing by multitudes of tents. As you walk, you notice the path curling in a circle, and wonder when you'll connect back to the courtyard.

You don't.

You're not sure which tent to choose to enter. There are too many choices. You turn a corner, and spot a small crowd of people, gathered around a platform. You join the crowd, and watch the woman on the podium. The woman on the podium is Asian, dressed in a tight black and white leotard. Her long black hair is tied into two braids, and exotic tattoos snake across her body, ranging from jet black to fiery red to deep blue. The woman bows, smiling enigmatically. Before pulling her leg behind her head.

Your jaw slowly drops as the woman contorts herself in shapes that you didn't know where possible, as if she had no bones. At one point, resting on her arms while her body is arched so her foot lies on her head, she stretches her other leg. Her assistant, whom you hadn't noticed until now, stands onto the podium and shows a tiny silver hoop. After an audience member tests the hoop, the assistant sets it in front of the contortionist, standing on a stand, before stepping back into invisibility. Your curiosity is soon fulfilled when the contortionist slowly slides through the hoop, and after a moment held in eternity, stands atop her hands on the other side. All the while, she smiled that enigmatic smile. You clap with everyone else, because what else can you do? Surely that was the height of the act.

You're proven wrong a moment later, when the woman slips herself in a clear glass box. A hint of thigh, an elbow, a foot, and part of her belly are all you can see as the woman's hand waves cheerfully, before closing the box. The box locks with a click, and you and the audience watch speechlessly as the inside of the box slowly fills with white smoke. When the smoke clears, the woman is gone. After the crowd disperses, you step towards the box. It is a solid piece, frosted glass held together at the edges by black iron. And there is no hole in the podium for her to have escaped. You scratch the back of our head, silently marveling.

How?

* * *

The sound of a flute catches your attention. You look up, the flute's song winding through tents, and you follow the sound. You find two woman seated upon silk pillows, a basket woven with strips of black and white wood between them. Your eyes water from the smoke of the incense between them, a harsh spice burning your nose and eyes. One of the woman plays the flute you heard, and the other has her eyes closed peacefully.

Soon, a small crowd gathers around you. Slowly, the other woman removes the lid of the basket, taking out a flute of her own and playing a melody that instead of meshing, clashes with the first woman's. The countermelodies fill the air slowly. Then two cobras slither out of the basket, each as white as bone. The cobras rise in perfect time with the music, coiling around each other. At one point, you can't make them out individually. Then they separate, going opposite ways and gliding down the basket, towards the crowd. They start to circle the basket, and you freeze as one of them slides over your foot. Scales cold and smooth, the serpent is heavy. Someone gasps, and you don't dare breath as the snake rises. You release your breath when the snake heads towards the center once more, moving with its partner in back and forth motions. The snakes almost seemed to be dancing.

Then the flutes increase tempo, and the snakes move harsher. One hisses, and the other one returns the hiss, moving around each other swiftly. The music continues to rise, and you wait for one of them to strike, the waltz now a battle. The music suddenly stops, and the snakes stop with it. Everything is silent, and after a moment you exhale. Then the flutes cry out, and the snakes attack each other in a frenzy, biting and hissing, fangs outstretched. You're not sure which attacked first. But as they rear, hiss, and strike, you stare at the now ebony black serpents as incense rises to the stars.

* * *

You take a sip of spiced cocoa, willing sleep away. Sitting on a bench, you watch people walk by, entering and exiting the many tents. Across the path, you see the contortionist again. Evidently, she recognizes you, as she waves while twisting her arms around her legs. You look down and take another sip of cocoa. The drink sits warmly in your stomach, and you feel drowsy despite the drink. You're eyes flutter for a moment.

Then something bumps into you. Your eyes shoot awake, and your fumble with your drink. This time you see the person you bumped into you, running away. You frown, muttering under your breath, before reaching for one of the treats you had bought earlier. They were gone. Along with your wallet. You swear, and stand up, running after the thief. You follow them through the crowd, blood pumping. You mutter apologies as you bump into people, but you keep an eye on the thief. The thief ducks into a tent, and you follow inside.

* * *

Inside the tent is no one. You frown, and spot your wallet and confectionery on a table, next to the flittering candle that throws light onto bookshelves. You stomp towards your belonging, complaining about pranksters. But your shoulders are tense, and you look around the room, trying to find the thief. You stand in front of the table, and place a hand on your stuff.

A cleaver, wet with dark red blood, thunks solidly next to your hand. You jerk your hand back, and the inkwell on the table falls, thousands of tiny spiders cascading from it. You stumble back, and books start to fly off the shelf. Thick heavy tomes. One lands on your feet, and you look down at the screaming face in its leather-bound cover. The leather didn't look like any you had seen before… You try make your way to the front of the tent, dodging books. A book hits the table, and the candle falls, plunging the room into darkness.

You freeze, breathing heavily in the dark silence. You try to calm yourself. Suddenly, a light blinds you, and a jester throws itself at you, tugging the corners of its mouth to the point where it stretches its face, eyes rolling. You gave a startled cry, and run out the tent. Cool crisp air hits, you, and you take a few shaky breaths. You notice the sign in front of the tent, gothic script cheerfully advertising the 'Haunted House'. You look to the tent next to it, which says that is the 'Gravedigger.' You decide to pass, and take a long sip of your cocoa.

* * *

You searched for a more calming tent after the Haunted House. And you find it in the form of the Ice Gardens.

There is not a speck of black in the tent. Everything sparkles brightly, the true size of the room obscured by the falling willows and snaking vines. You walk along the snowy path lined by pearly stones, crisp ivory grass growing along it. Every bush, tree, and branch is so like the real thing, that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference if not for the fact it was all made of ice. The air was crisp and cold, and a hint of sweet flowers tickled the back of your nose. You step closer to one of the trees, admiring the whorls in it's clear bark. You reach tentatively towards a delicate blossom, transparent petals glimmering in the light of the tent…before pulling back. You feel like even touching it would shatter into a million pieces.

You continue on the path, silvery ribbons hanging from the tress down towards you, until you reach an alabaster fountain, quietly bubbling. There are benches, snowflakes carved into them, and you sit on one of them, noting the pleasant cool sensation, before glancing at the fountain. You immediately turn back, because for a moment, instead of your own reflection, you swear you saw the face of a blue eyes jester. You're startled reflection meets you, and you release a sigh. The lack of sleep must be getting to you.

You stay in the Ice Gardens for a long time.

* * *

The tent of the Hanged Man was filled with people. Acrobats, trapeze artists, aerialist. The people who were closest to being able to fly without any machines, the people you had the grace of a bird in the sky. They hung from the ceiling, round lamps illuminating their act like stars. Girls dressed in gossamer feathers and black masks spin around, hung only by silver ribbons that they control, and flew through the air like swans. Trapeze acts with normal chairs went on with these human swans, as round birdcages rise and descend while the aerists within moved outside and in, standing atop their cage or hanging from their bars. Everyone was in a graceful, chaotic dance.

Everyone except for the man in the center, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo and impressive top hat, hanging upside down from the ceiling by a silver rope tied around his ankle. The man's hands, clasped behind his back, raise and reach out until they hang below his head. He moves slowly at first, and then accelerates, faster and faster until he is a blur. You and the crowd watch with breathless anticipation. And then he stops suddenly, falling to the ground. The audience scrambles from beneath him, opening hard ground beneath him. There is no net. You watch, heart in your throat as he falls, but you can't look away. He falls towards the ground at breakneck speed, and someone screams. And then he stops, eye level with the audience, suspended by that seemingly endless silver chord. Slowly the man takes off his top hat, undisturbed by his fall, and takes a bow.

The audience is silent for a moment, before clapping. But you don't join in. Instead you stare up as one of the acrobats. An acrobat who instead of being white or black, had purple tinted at the edges of their feathers, and a yellow ribbon attached to their hands. An acrobat that stared right at you, blue eyes shining from a golden mask.

* * *

When the dawn's light starts to peak from the horizon, it is time to leave. The exhaustion of the night catches up with you, and trudge to the exit, wiping sleep from your eyes and yawning. And yet…You hesitate to enter the tunnel, and look back. The circus, winding down though it was, still pulled you.

"Do not worry."

You blink and turn to see the man from before, dressed like the circus with a splash of red scarf. The man smiled.

"The circus will be in town for a few more days."

His words calm you, and with one last look back, you step into the tunnel, making the dark journey alone once more. You step through the soft curtain, and walk past the ticket booth. The lady smiles at you, and you smile back. You walk out of the gate…And stop, turning around. The circus loomed still, even with the sun's rays washing over it. Your eyes fall on the clock, which is just a normal clock, black and white like the circus. You stare at it as the hand reaches the hour. And when it does, the sound of a flute rings through the air, and you catch a glimpse of a tinny jester playing an invisible flute on the top of the twelve. You watch the jester play its song until it retracts back into the clock. And then you turn around, and walk back into the real world.

* * *

You return to the circus the next night.

* * *

 **First off, no we're not abandoning Fading Shadows. We just took so long to worldbuild and discuss the next chapter, that it isn't ready. So instead of leaving a blank week, we decided to give this multi-shot that has mulled in our head for a long time.**

 **If you have not read Erin Morgenstern's 'Night Circus', go read it now. Such a unique, dreamy book shouldn't be missed. And the Cirque de Reves itself has captured our heart.**

 **And if you haven't played NiGHTS into Dreams, go play it now. Yet another unique dreamy game that shouldn't be missed.**

 **See the pattern?**

 **This crossover's premise is the Jester of Dreams being an inhabitant of the Night Circus, and you(the reader's) interactions with it, and the Circus of Dreams itself.**

 **This is a crossover that fits really well, considering NiGHTS was based of off Cirque de Soliel. There will be multiple chapters, each following each Ideya of the game, in an attempt to show you as much of the Circus as possible.**

 **So sit back, and enjoy, dear dreamer.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The works of art 'NiGHTS' and 'The Night Circus' belong to SEGA and Erin Morgenstern, not us.**

 **Jukebox:**

 **'Eloquent Echo'(NiGHTS Journey of Dreams OST)**

 **'Sweeping Seashore'(NiGHTS Journey of Dreams OST)**

 **'Cowardly Custars' (NiGHTS Journey of Dreams OST)**

 **'From Dusk til Dawn' (by pu_freak. NiGHTS Lucid Dreaming Album)**

* * *

The light of the circus blinds you as you exit the tunnel once more. The scents of the circus envelopes you, lightening your steps. The circus is exactly as you remember it- a dream. You immediately make your way to a vendor, and sample some of the many confections they have to offer.

You snake betwixt the tents, popping a sweet in your mouth every once in a while. Each monochrome tent beckons to you, promising wonders beyond imagination.

You are plagued by indecision. You cannot decide which tent to enter. You walk past many tents, each bearing fantastical titles in fanciful script. After a moment, you pocket the remaining treats, and make your way to the Hanged Man once more. It's the best place to start the evening, you muse.

You watch the various acrobats flying through the air, a flock of danseurs preforming an elaborate, chaotic, yet choreographed act. And at the center of it all the Hanged Man hanging peacefully, seemingly content with his fate.

You sit in one of the few chairs that was left on the ground rather than hanging in the air, watching the performance. A young woman sits next to you, and hasn't taken her eyes off of the act since you sat down. She simply looks up and stares. After a while, you fidget and your eyes water in sympathy. The woman remains unblinking, her expression serene.

You resume watching the act. Acrobats dressed in black and white whiz through the air, and you'd swear that they really were flying if you couldn't see flashes of the ribbons supporting them.

After another moment, you stand up and walk out of the tent, just as the Hanged Man himself begins his part of the act. You walk into the cool air outside, the odour of cider tickling your nose. You see a juggler juggling outside, his orbs staying in the air and disobeying gravity when he throws them up, seemingly only to be brought down by the juggler's own will. You smile, and walk away, hands in your pockets.

* * *

The next attraction that beckons you is humble. It was a miniscule tent jammed between two larger ones, a slight gap almost hidden. The gap is just large enough to let a person through. A tag hangs underneath the entrance. You examine the tag and find a picture of a sleeping child in bed lying underneath a twinkling night sky. On the tag, in a looping script was written:

 _Bedtime Stories, Even tide Rhapsodies, Anthologies of Memory. Please enter cautiously and feel free to open what is closed._

The tag intrigues you. The rest of the attractions had bright signs, as if they were demanding you to partake in them. This felt more like a shy invitation. You look at the gap and carefully squeeze through it.

The inside of the tent was as big as a royal dining room. And inside the room were jars. Jars everywhere: atop the large rectangular table that dominated the room, on boxes, lying on the floor, on the shelves of bookcases. Each jar was unique. You can see a mason jar on the table, an old urn on the floor, small metal chests, perfume vessels and so many more. Each jar rattled slightly, as if something was inside them, and wanted to get out.

The tent was only illuminated by twinkling lights above, mimicking the night sky on the tag. You walk around the room, cautious but curious, and pick up a container. It was wooden box, a flower carved into the wood. Remembering the tag, you slowly pop the lid open, and look inside. You see nothing in the dark.

Then the scent hits you.

It's a bright floral scent, heavy rose and lilac filling your nose. And past that, the subtler smells of daffodils, tulips, carnations, marigolds. You can hear trees whispering past you, feel dewy leaves and wet grass caress your feet. Thick loamy earth lies beneath your toes, and sunlight filters through the leaves. You drop the lid in shock, and it falls onto the box perfectly.

You take a breath, the room coming back to you, and slowly place the box back. You stand there for a moment, just breathing. Then you pick up another container. This one seems to be made of smooth material that you cannot quite place, and you open it cautiously. Salt water immediately fills your lungs, and yet it does not drown you. You feel the cold seawater all around you, and you do not so much smell it as you taste it. Something silvery flashes past you, and you feel scales brush past you. The light filters through the water, revealing a palace made of bright coral, majestic and grand. The sound of laughter, distorted yet recognizable makes its way towards you, and you catch a glimpse of a woman, hiding a smile with her hand, swimming away, her scaled tail churning the water. You blink, and wrench yourself away back into the room, gasping slightly as the feeling of seawater disappears.

You put the box back, and debate picking another. After a moment of deliberation, you take a cracked urn. You are not sure what to expect. Perhaps old ruins, conquered by nature over the ages and yet still maintaining their past grandeur. Instead, as you remove the lid, you get cinnamon and butterscotch, a warmth flooding your belly.

A fireplace murmurs, warm but not so hot as to burn. You feel a worn, old carpet beneath you as you sit by an armchair. A woman sits in it, holding a thick tome, speaking softly. The warmth of her voice blankets you, lulling you to sleep. Your eyes grow heavy, and you start to nod off. You hear a chuckle, and feel warm, strong arms hold you gently, thick fur soft to the touch. You blink, and the room comes back into focus. You place the urn back onto the floor, feeling both contented and confused. You still smile, and look around the room.

A small metal jar catches your eyes, and you open it. Fog blankets you immediately, muffling your ears and clogging your nose with a wet mustiness. The fog covers everything, and makes your skin feel clammy and cold. You feel nervous. Footsteps suddenly echo, muffled by the fog but still audible. The footsteps stop as suddenly as they began, and an uncomfortable silence hangs. Then you hear squelching, and see silhouettes in the fog, moving with an inhuman gait. The hairs on the back of your neck stand, and your throat constricts. The shadows waver in the fog, and rush straight towards you. You choke back a scream, and you smell ozone in the air, feel fire brush against your skin. Something warm splashes onto you, and you smell rust.

You jerk back with a cry, the room slamming back into perception. The jar falls from your hands, tumbling towards the ground. A white glove catches it, and blue eyes look at you in curiosity and concern as the jester snatches the jar from the air.

* * *

You blink. The jester blinks back, grinning and offering a chocolate mouse. You take it, because really, what else could you do? The jester claps, delight evident on...it's face, and twirls in the air. The jester obviously isn't human. Its face was humanoid, with cream coloured skin, and though it lacks a nose, it has large almond shaped eyes, bluer than the sky or the ocean. It's pupils were catlike slits, filled with amusement. Its long eyelashes and soft face makes it look like a girl-but the rest of its body looks masculine, and in the end you really can't tell if the jester is a girl or a boy.

Its skintight outfit is in rich hues of colour, with their a large violet jester hat, a magenta vest with red and gold accents studded with little gold stars and a large crimson gem in the middle of the chest, long white sleeves ending in violet gold cuffs and white gloves with long fingers, and violet overalls that end in magenta and gold where the feet should be. But instead of feet, they had things that look like a small child's perception of feet-Just solid feet shaped blobs.

You stand there, holding the chocolate mouse that's melting in your hands, staring at the jester as it hovers through the air, defying gravity. No doubt about it. This was the same jester you had seen yesterday. In the Hanged Man. And in the Haunted House. You narrow your eyes and yell at the jester. The jester abruptly stops and turns to you, confused. You try to stare at it angrily. This is made tough by the fact that the jester is currently upside-down. You stare into it eyes, and ask it calmly why it scared you yesterday. The jester tried to look guilty, though it couldn't hide its smile. You snap at the jester, surprising it into rightsideupness. You continue to berate the jester, telling it that what it did was not at all appreciated, and it should be ashamed of themselves. The jester pouts, and looks away, hands behind its back. You try to maintain your anger. It doesn't work, and you sigh before telling the jester that you forgive it. The jester immediately gets into your face, grinning. You yelp and stumble back, colliding with one of the tables. A jar starts to wobble, before falling. The jester catches this one too, and deftly places both jars in their places, before having the gall to look at you disappointedly, shaking a finger and clucking.

You've had enough of this tent, and of the jester. You make your way to the exit. Something tugs on your clothes, and you look back. The jester is looking at you calmly, and in it's hand is another container. As soon as you see it you back away, shaking your head. The jester just shoves the container into your arms. You look down at it before looking back up at the jester. The jester mimes opening it, taking a big sniff. You look back down. The container is a simple glass jar, though it is too foggy to see anything inside. You don't want to open it, remembering the smell of rust. You're tempted to just ignore the jester. You look back up. The jester smiles, and this time it's softer. You hesitate for a moment. Then you remove the lid from the jar, and take a tentative sniff.

You're immediately hit by the smell of animals. Animals and people and other things. A myriad of them everywhere, all walking past you, jostling you in the crowd. You feel cobblestone below you, and the smell of people is intermingled with countless other odours. Exotic spices, sticky sweets, clean water, beautiful flowers, and fresh paint. The smell of a city.

You stand in the middle of a city, except verdant trees grow next to the stone buildings. Grass grows neatly next to the stone pathways. What you thought were simple animals turn to you and talk in a cacophony of voices. Vibrant hues of color whirl around you, glowing and flowing. For a moment, you're almost overwhelmed. Your breath grows short, and you feel smaller and smaller. And then- Somebody is next to you, asking if you're alright. It's someone you know, and their tall and solid presence reassures you. And then someone else, rough and tough, tells the first that of course your fine. A third, suave and smooth, says that perhaps you should take a breather, perhaps sit with them for a cup of tea. Their room, perhaps? You bat them away, and they back away chuckling. And then many other familiar faces pop up, talking and laughing and-living. And the colours of the city blur into a beautiful picture, the smells a fragrance, the sounds a symphony. You look at the utopia you've fallen into. You laugh, you smile. And you finally move forward.

You're jarred back into reality, and the first thing you see is the jester snapping its fingers, waving a hand in front of your face. You push the jester aside, and it look at you with a blank face. You look back down at the jar, closing it and putting it back onto the table. Then you turn towards the jester, and motion to the exit. The jester's expression can only be described as joy, and you suddenly find yourself being hugged. Before you can react, the jester is gone, leaving behind only twinkling dust that fades as it reaches the earth. You look around the room. Then you look at the now sticky mess that was a chocolate mouse. Then after a moment, you walk outside, leaving the tent and all of its wonders behind.

* * *

The smell of the circus hits you, and you look around the black and white tents, the twinkling lights, and the crowds of people, trying to find the jester. No matter where you look, you can't find. You sigh, and wipe the chocolate on your hand onto one of the tents. Hopefully, no one would m- In the corner of your eye, you see a flash of bright violet. You whirl around, but still you don't see the jester anywhere. But as you search, you begin to hear something, barely audible amongst the murmur of the circus. You hear the notes of a flute. You start to follow, edging your way past people, muttering apologies as you try to find the source of the tune.

No one else seems to hear it. The notes grow louder and louder, until you reach an enormous tent. The sign before the tent announced in bubbly letters _:_

 _The Cloud Maze. An Excursion in Dimension. A Climb Through the Firmament. There is No Beginning. There is No End. Enter Where You Please. Leave When You Wish. Have No Fear of Falling_.

The tent is one of the biggest you've seen, and as you enter, you soon find out why. The inside of the tent skin is painted black, making the room completely dark. Ignoring the pearly, luminous structure that takes up all of the tent of course. It lies in the center, and reaches all the way to the roof, and the only room left over in the tent is a raised pathway that loops around the structure's perimeter, leading into the iridescent mass. The floor beyond the path is covered by small translucent orbs, like bubbles. People play with the orbs, throwing them like snowballs. You pick one up yourself, and find yourself holding the softest object ever. Softer than velvet, lighter than a feather. You squeeze it, and after you let go, it pops back into shape perfectly. You drop the soft bubble when you hear the flute though. You look up towards the top of the Cloud Maze, where the sound is coming from. You see nothing, but the flute continues to play the song that only you can hear. You look at the height of the Maze. You take a deep breath. And you enter, climbing into the Maze of Clouds.

You soon realize why the name is so apt. The structure is truly a maze, with platforms at every height hanging from the ceiling, some floating around while others looked sturdier. Some platforms at your knees, other above your head. Whatever they're made from is soft, so soft you're afraid that you'll fall right through, but sturdy enough to hold your weight. The inside of the maze is nothing but luminous white, and for a moment, you just stand on your platform, not sure what to do. Slowly, you grab another platform and hoist yourself up. And then you take a little hop to the next platform. Soon, you hop, jump and leap from platform to platform, slowly but surely making your way to the top of the Maze. The Maze is layered, the room between platforms ranging between comfortable to stand to barely able to crawl. But you still make your way through it.

The sound of the flute gets louder and louder and louder, until you turn a corner to see the jester. It is sitting in the air, it's eyes closed in concentration as it plays…nothing. You see no flute, though is plays as if there was one in it's hands. You watch it's deft fingers play notes for a while. The jester suddenly stops, and opens one eye, staring straight at you. A second later, it's in front of you, smiling. You tentatively smile back. The jester flies around the room for a bit, before heading off to the other side, motioning for you to follow it. You follow, and the both of you walk through the fluffy hallways. Until the hallway ends.

You don't notice as the jester floats over the abyss below, and you don't notice the glint in its eyes. You only notice when you take a step. And meet empty air. Your mind goes blank as you trip, and fall down. A part of you notes that you managed to get to the very top of the maze. The rest of you notes that your falling. The maze rushes past you in a bright blur, and you close your eyes as the ground flies up to meet you. A moment later, an ocean of softness envelops you. You slowly open your eyes, and sit up to find yourself in the bubbles of the floor.

You stand up angrily, and look up. A blur rushes past you, into the bubbles. You blink, and look down. Something moves in the bubbles, and a moment later, someone comes out. They smile up at you, eyes impossible blue. And they look human. But the impossibly blue eyes beyond the gold masque they wear reveals what they truly are. The jester, though no longer a jester, takes a look at you. Before erupting into silent giggles once more, laughing uproariously. And a moment later, you join in, laughing as you sit below the Cloud Maze.

* * *

The jester drags you through the pathways of the circus excitedly, ignoring your protests. Though your protests are only halfhearted. The smile on the jester's face is far too exuberant to say no to. For the first time, you see other people react to the jester. Mostly in annoyance as they ran into people, but it was still something compared to the ghost they were before. As the jester lead you to whoever knew where, you observe them.

Instead of the extravagant outfit they had worn before, the clothes they wore now were much simpler. A collared vest over a dress shirt, with long dress pants. Scuffed dress shoes, and worn white gloves. Their face was covered by an ornate golden masque, and atop their head was a top hat. And the entire outfit was black and white. The only splashes of color were the purple tint to the vest, the golden masque, and the red gem still in the middle of their chest. Nobody seemed to notice that though. Everyone treated the jester as if they were a normal child.

You're broken out of your musings as the jester stops. You look around, confused as to where you are. The jester frowns before flicking your forehead. You blink, and the jester points to a tent. From the tent wafts the warm, sugary smell of a bakery, and the sign in front of it reads The Gingerbread House. You take a moment to read the sign, the scent of thousands of treats filling your lungs. And then you turn to see the biggest grin in the history of grins.

* * *

A vendor hawked their wares, and the smell of spiced cocoa filled the air. The smell curdled your stomach, and you quickly waddled away. If you never ate another sweet in your life, it would be too soon. The jester didn't seem to have any problem, and lightly skipped beside you. You glared at them. They give you a cheeky grin, before brandishing a mug of hot cocoa with cream on top under your nose. You stomach immediately threatens revolt, and you turn away, covering your mouth. You can feel the jester laugh, and turn towards it, glowering. The jester grins at you, before showing a mint. You blink, and the jester mimes eating the mint. You search your pockets, and find the mint that the lady inside the Gingerbread House gave.

The Gingerbread House, true to name, had entirely been made out of sweets. Graham cracker tables, marshmallow cushions, licorice handles, and loads upon loads of sweeties glued to the décor with copious frosting. All the sweets were monochrome, as was the girl that sat at the dark chocolate dining table. She wore a ragged dress like a grandmother. But upon her neck was an ornate pendant made of sugar crystals, and her pigtails and dimpled smile made her look young. And when they sat, she immediately put two pancake plates in front of you and the jester, before loading them with food.

Apple crisps, Belgian waffles, Peach Cobblers, Devil's Food cake with a side of Angel's food cake. Doughnuts, eclairs, French Toast, honeycombs, gingersnaps, brownies with a fudge sundae. Jellyrolls, cocao mousse, Neapolitan, parfaits. Red Velvet cake, scones and sherbets. S'mores and snickerdoodles, tarts and turnovers. Tubs of every kind of ice cream, and trays of steaming fresh cookies. Willy Wonka had nothing on this house, and by the time you left clutching your stomach, you almost regretted the whole endeavor. But before you left, the girl had given you a small mint. You turn back to the jester, who once again mimics popping the mint back. You do so, wondering if the jester is playing another trick on you. But you eat the mint.

Once you do, the pain in your stomach fades to nothing and you almost sigh in relief. You turn towards the jester, silent for a moment, before thanking them. The jester looks at you in surprise, before shrugging with a smile and chugging the mug of cocoa. You look around the circus, looking at each and every tent. The night was still young, and there were many more attractions to see. A tent catches your eye.

It's shaped differently from the rest, and the sign in front of it says Hall of Mirrors. You remember once, going to a hall of mirrors when you were little, at the county fair back when it still happened. It had been a drab place, with just a couple of mirrors, some funhouse, others normal bathroom mirrors. Even as a young imaginative child, you hadn't been impressed. But as you look at this Hall of Mirrors, you feel as if the Cirque de Reves will be far more…magical.

Magical. A whimsical word that mostly children only used. You stare at the tent, and make up your mind. You turn towards the jester, words on your mouth. And you freeze as you see the jester cast aside the mug. The jester sees you and looks at you, tilting their head. The cream handlebar moustache on the jester's lip quivers. Your words choke in your throat, and you try not to laugh. The jester waves a hand in front of your face, before crossing its arms with a pout. You can't help it.

You start to laugh. The jester blinks and starts waving their arms in confusion. You point at their face. The jester blinks, and starts feeling their face. As soon as their hand touches the cream mustache, it collapses, and they blush. You chuckle, wiping away a tear. After a moment, the jester joins you. You point at the Hall of Mirrors. The jester takes one look and smiles, taking your hand and dragging you towards the tent. This time, you don't resist.

* * *

The inside of the tent is nothing like the Hall of Mirrors you had once seen. Hundreds of mirrors, each of various shapes and sizes, each in an equally unique frame. You walk past each one, and each one shows a different reflection. In one, only your clothes are reflected. In another, you're normal, but you no longer have your jacket. The one next to it has your jacket, but your eyes are a bright yellow. Another mirror shows nothing but empty space, and the mirror across from it, when looked into, showed thousands of shadow figures.

In some mirrors you could see a man with a bowler hat, but when you looked around, you can't see him amongst the patrons of the Hall. Of course, only looking at the mirrors, you couldn't tell how many people were in the room with you. And the jester walks beside you as you walk, and in each mirror they are different too. One mirror shows them as you met them, a graceful jester. Another shows them as a girl with pink hair. Or a boy with blue. One mirror showed them as a dragon! The jester admired each of their reflection, grinning smugly. Until they reached a mirror that showed only darkness, two red eyes staring out at them. The mirror next to that one showed you, wearing a disheveled hospital gown, dead eyes staring blankly at nothing.

As soon as you see the reflections, the jester grabs your hand and pulls you away. You ask the jester what was wrong as you walk deeper into the hall. What were those reflections? The jester just looks back and gives a smile. You frown. But as soon as you reach the end of the hall, you forget the reflections. It was a circular room, illuminated by a lamppost made from black wrought iron and frosted glass. The lamppost stood tall, and looked more at home at a Victorian street corner than a circus tent. The walls were covered with mirrors, each one placed to line up with the stripped ceiling and floor. And as you walk to the center of the room, it becomes a world of infinite street lamps, the fractals of the stripes going on to forever and ever.

* * *

You sit down after exiting the hall of mirrors. The jester had waited impatiently for a while as you rested your legs. But now they were nowhere to be seen. So you sit, and you contemplate on waiting of the jester, or leaving to explore the circus. You are not without company. While you waited, a woman had appeared across the street. You hadn't seen her walk up. One moment, she wasn't there. Then a crowd passed by and there she was, right across from you. And she hadn't moved from that spot since, standing still. Like a statue.

Her jet black attire contrasted with her ghostly pale skin. Her ballroom gown was adorned with countless onyx stones and ivory shards, making it shine like the night sky. At her neck, a garnet so dark it was almost black was set in a silver white amulet. Her ebony hair hung loose, framing a regal face, and it swayed to an imagined breeze, moving like smoke. Her lips were a dark red, and her eyes were fully black. And she looked up to the sky, turning up her nose to everyone that had gathered to admire her. The podium she proudly stood on declared her the Empress of the Night. And you believed it.

* * *

Something tapped your shoulder, and when you turn the jester is there, holding a bag full of something that smelled delicious. Then again, everything in the circus smelled delicious. The jester offers you the bag, but you refuse, remembering the Gingerbread House. The jester frowns and pushes the bag towards you. You admit defeat, and look into the bag, taking out a treat. It was a little cinnamon twist, and it sat there in your hand, warm and inviting. You take a bite, and then take another.

The jester is far too smug as you continue to take cinnamon twists. You ignore it. Delicious cinnamon twists were more important. When you finish licking your fingers clean, the jester takes your hand, leading you off once more. This time, they stop in front of a tent that says _The Frozen Symphonies_. You turn towards the jester, quirking an eyebrow. But they are no longer there. You look around, but find no sign of them. You turn back to the tent, and after a moment, you enter.

As soon as you do, you're hit by a blast of frigid air. You walk deeper into the tent, and the ground goes from black grass to pristine snow. You stand, shivering and hugging yourself. But you still stand to admire the room. Towering chimes of ice rise hang from the ceiling, each so intricate they look carved. In the dark light of the tent, they glow- violets, greens, and blues trapped within the ice. They hover high above you, silent. And the jester sits on the largest chime, no longer disguised.

They're eyes are closed and they once again hold that unseen flute to their mouth. The room seems to hold its breath. And then the jester blows a note. A gust of chilly wind fills the room. And the chimes rise in a crescendo along with the jester. They shake in the wind, each note melding together to form melodies and harmonies. The ceiling now resembles the Northern Lights as the symphony falls to the room below, filling it. You stand there enraptured. And the jester plays and plays and plays.

* * *

The jester disappeared when the symphony ends. You try to search for them, to no avail. Now you walk through the pathways, unsure of what to do. You try to hum the song from the Frozen Symphony, to remember it. But you keep messing up notes, and you eventually give up on the clumsy attempt. Only to restart a moment latter. The sky has begun to lighten, and as you trudge past tents, tired, you wonder if it's time to leave.

You don't want to.

You almost miss the sound of the flute as you walk, thinking deeply. You blink, and turn to see a large tent. The flute sounds again, playing the same melody, and you immediately walk towards it. You pass by the sign without reading it, and enter to find…A carousel. A large carousel, with every kind of creature under the sun. A fox with nine tails, a rabbit with antlers. A horse with scaly wings, and a fish with long streamers for fins. There are mundane animals too, and each creature, fantastical or not, circle the carousel rising and falling like waves. Each one in hung from a twisted silken rope. Except for one. You feel an eye twitch as you find a horse with a horn and wings posing majestically. It almost fit with the other animals. Except it's a bright violet hue, and hung from a golden ribbon. Its eyes, an impossible shade of blue shinning past a golden masque, stared at you.

You sigh and look around, wondering how nobody else has noticed this. The flute sounds again, and when you whirl around, all you see is a smug looking horse. You contemplate ignoring it. But instead you climb onto it, sitting steadily on the saddle. The carousel begins once more, and you drift slowly around. The motion of the carousel is relaxing, and you yawn as you mass through a labyrinth of silver cogs and gears. Your eyes start to close, and you feel yourself nodding off. The gears change to a brilliant night sky, lit under a beautiful moon. In a haze you try to stay awake, shaking you're head. But then the flute's song rings again, softly, and at last you fall into sleep.

* * *

You wake up groggily, trying to remember what happened. Then your eyes open wide, and you sit up hurriedly. You're sitting on a bench, near the white fire of the entrance. The first rays of dawn shine above, and people leave in a slow mass. Children cry, and some hesitate. But they all eventually leave. You blink a couple of times, before standing up unsteadily. You had to go too. But you stop before entering the tunnel, and look one last time for the jester. You don't see them anywhere, and there is no flute ringing out in the dawn. Just silence. You scuff the ground, wondering what you were expecting, and walk towards the tunnel, hand in your pockets. Something crinkles. You pause, and search through your pockets before finding a crumpled piece of paper. You almost throw it away, but after a moment, you unfurl it. And you read:

 _Welcome to the Circus of Dreams! See you soon!_

 _NiGHTS_

* * *

 **Ah NiGHTS. A prankster at heart, always. And yes, we're keeping NiGHTS speechless. It just seems to be too integral a part to remove.**

 **NiGHTS' human child disguise is based off of Widget and Poppet's attire. And there are two Visitors cameoing too. Anyone know who they are?**

 **The NiGHTS Lucid Dreaming Album mentioned in the Jukebox is a fanmade Album of amazing NiGHTS remixes. And it's also available freely on the internet. So check it out!**

 **And finally, sorry for the long wait. You'll be rewarded though! Next chapter'll come out soon. So tune in next time, dreamer!**


End file.
